Not sure if I have forgotten something but I think I had climbed my highest peak ever, ( I mean from sea level and back) – no less than 250m! There was a cable car, too, and other people use a taxi as an alternative means of ascent, but I relied on my own two feet!
It is clear that after such a two-hour gruelling march I could not have done much else, so I can keep it short this time.
It was rainy.
The ferry arrived almost on time, but it took two hours for the border police to arrive to check us.
The passengers (including those with bicycles, motorcycles, and cars) were privileged to leave first. However, another officer was downstairs who urged me to hurry. So I said a quick goodbye and went out into the rain.
To find the guesthouse, I had marked it on the map and even looked at the street view. But the location and street view were wrong, and no photo on booking.com showed the truth.
No wonder – the house at the given address looked uninhabitable, but don’t judge a book by its cover, and the photos of the room had been fine.
So I opened the garden gate and was led into the backyard with a new building.
The owner was a funny one:
She could speak German, opened to door with the freshly cleaned floor and went in with her muddy shoes. She went back and forth, to and fro, there and back, explaining the obvious, but in German: here is the bed, here is the table, here is the blablabla and you could read on the floor what what she was talking about.
And then she told me to keep the room tidy and clean – “Do you understand?”
I understood well, and when she was gone, I took off my shoes to enter, balanced among her traces of dirt, and dug out an old napkin. (I always keep them after dabbing my lips and polishing my fingertips after dining, for more serious emergencies, like cleaning up after my Georgian landlady).
Normally, the mornings are fresh, but this time it was very pleasant and there was hardly any wind. Some people get nervous from the inactivity and do small circles with their hips or shoulders just as much as possible when laziness makes them weak.
My note is still there, and people have gotten used to it, light-hearted piling up bread and adding other stuff to decorate their plates.
It’s this ignorance that shows me that we definitely don’t stand a chance in the fight against climate change. Many don’t care, and too many of those who at least know about it find excuses or “explanations” and fail to see that the problem only exists because the choices each of us makes cause the misery. The better we live, the greater our influence (and usually negative).
Of course, structures also influence our options:
On the ferry, waste separation is impossible; you get plastic cups for everything, and people take two inserted into each other because the plastic is so flimsy you can hardly grasp it. The kitchen workers use stacks of paper tissues to pre-clean the plates, as reusable cloth rags haven’t been invented yet. Of course, they don’t use the stacks people want to throw away, so they throw them away and use new ones for cleaning
In the afternoon I had finished the dream of my grandfather, so the ferry can dock!
Over the course of these days, some social interactions could be observed, initially along the lines of languages, but slowly also across languages. For example, a Russian- and German-speaking man translated information given by an Azerbaijani man to the Swiss cycling couple. They face the same problem as me: Entry into Azerbaijan is only possible by plane (or by truck). And you can get this or that information about finding ways like contacting this ministry or that embassy.
But in general, conversation is limited by massive language barriers, and for all Eastern European countries and beyond, some knowledge of Russian would be great.
At least you sensed the strong desire to make contact.
The Japanese man “broomed” himself in a special position, everyone wanted to get in contact! I think he created a new blend of love of order and golf practice, held together by Zen Buddhism.
Walter, the motorcyclist, took a few photos of passengers, which I can also share here.
The night was what you can expect with 3 others in a small room and a toilet with the vacuum roar sound known from trains. But the night’s rest was enough to tackle the compulsory and freestyle tasks of the new day. Compulsory: breakfast, lunch and dinner and free section: talking, reading and writing. I even managed to catch up on my sunrise, late as 06:22.
There had been some more trucks and a few cars in the morning but still enough space left.
But I was surprised that the dining room was full as “usual”
Until noon I mainly was busy with reading (Yan Lianke – My grandfather’s dream). It is my first non-non-fiction book in years but that’s another ferry tradition. . In this case, I’m not just allowing myself a novel, but also seeing it as a kind of preparation for China. It was one of many titles recommended by Han, my last Chinese CS guest, and the best part for me is that we can meet over the course of this trip and talk not only about “everything,” but also about this book, which in turn will open several doors to “everything.”
Perhaps this is a good opportunity to explain the title “Kunming and beyond“:
After Efan, a CS friend since her time in Vienna, with personal contact in Hong Kong, Australia (twice), and again in Vienna, told me about her Yunnan road trip project, I was excited.
A similar idea—meeting friends from “everywhere” and connecting them through the Uganda project “damawas” on the occasion of my 60th birthday—somehow hadn’t come to fruition.
YES! – “Kunming” itself is exciting!
But how can I travel so far without visiting or meeting friends along the way? That’s the “beyond” aspect, beyond also as a hint that I want to go on to Taiwan and more.
What I’m getting at is this:
I don’t want to compare anything or anyone and therefore try to use sober language when writing about friends, except stating that they are true friends to me.
And the journey will be a string of pearls, highlight after highlight
Last point:
Just as a string of pearls is not only made of pearls but also needs a connection, travelling is necessary for the connection, and I wonder how deep my connection to buses and trains will ultimately be.
Back to lunch and back to my mission.
No matter what we have for lunch or dinner, it comes with mountains of white bread. And people take 5 slices, eat their meal using one or two slices (and “naturally” they produce plenty of leftovers anyway) and three slices of bread join the other leftovers in the trash.
In Vienna, I decided at the last minute to write a text asking people to take only as much bread as they wanted to eat. I translated it into Georgian, Bulgarian, and Russian and asked Doron to print it out. He added something else: He asked an AI for variants that also took cultural backgrounds into account. That was a good idea and an interesting result.
My task was to position the sheet so it would be easy to read. If I gave it to the staff, they could refuse it or really hang it up. If I wanted to do it secretly, I needed an unobserved moment, and the staff could still put it away. Thanks to Doron, I had the text four times and made a first attempt in the afternoon. Only one guy looked toward the buffet, so I pretended to look for a drink and put the sheet there. When they started preparing dinner, it was still there, and once I saw a staff member put it BACK in place! I hadn’t understood why it hadn’t been there, but now I guess he had shown it to his boss before putting it back. So, a first small success!
But none of those I introduced here yesterday had seen the sheet, and I can’t say whether less bread was wasted, or who else didn’t see my message, and which of the actual readers were wicked enough to ignore my good advice.
The next stage will be A4 format instead of A5, and I’ll keep you updated!
The optimal ratio of size to effect that gives me a sleepless night is called a mosquito.
My ambitious morning plan was a sunrise photo on the beach, a 5k run, followed by a swim in the calm morning sea, and finally “my” well-earned Burgas breakfast.
At 3 a.m., I interrupted my routine of hearing a mosquito, turning on the light, morphing into a merciless killer, falling asleep, and starting over, and I turned off my alarm instead. No sunrise for me after a night like that! But at least the run wasn’t off my list.
At the beach was an adults (=men’s?) “playground” and after taking a belated sunrise photo I did some dips and pull-ups. This was good and so I went on to another outdoor gym with another group of men doing what has to be done at 7 in the morning. One machine was for squats with added weight. I couldn’t move it. A man in his late 40ies or so laughed and asked me to sit down on the machine to add my (now probably) 75kg. He also was weighing 75 + some Trump tariffs in addition. He then helped me to remove 50 kg on the machine and with now 175kg I did 10 squats.
But why the hell??
I’d never done it before and definitely didn’t know how to do it properly.
Now it hurts.
Earlier (d03), I’d proudly emphasized how clever I am. I should have mentioned that I am not only well aware of my limits but that it’s only a matter of seconds for me to switch to crazy/mad/unreasonable. That’s my version of Mag. Jekyll and Pro. Hyde
So swimming was cancelled, and I punished myself with water instead of Boza.
The rest of the day was waiting. I got my ticket and went to the ferry and wanted to film the “truck-tetris”: those large trucks are arranged in the most space efficient way and I am “always” impressed when the drivers manoeuvre their trucks with centimeter precision. But this time there was not much to see.
Over the course of the afternoon and evening, more travelers came on board. There was a couple from Switzerland, seasoned cyclists, then there came a Japanese, a seasoned interrail traveller. A French guy came, a young but seasoned business traveler who had now quit his job for a month in Bulgaria and a month in Georgia and then a guy from Germany, a seasoned motorcycle traveller.
But I am the top-seasoned ferry passenger, as this is my third time here, and everyone else was a beginner 😉
The couple had paid double the price for a private cabin, and the rest of us formed a crew for another cabin. (Sleepless nights guaranteed, but not because of wild parties – other noise!)
Dinner was the highlight of the evening, perhaps not because it met the highest expectations, but for all those who had nothing special to do, it was an event. And it reminded me of a special task I wanted to complete, whether a secret mission or not—I don’t know yet, but this time I’ll have to use it as a cliffhanger.
See you tomorrow!
This is my third time in Burgas and I’m again waiting for the ferry to depart on Friday.
Last time (in 2022, when I was visiting friends in Georgia, Armenia, Iran, and Turkey), the ferry arrived late in Burgas and didn’t leave until Saturday evening, so I had to book a new room for the extra night, which was difficult due to a festival. I also almost missed the bus from Batumi to Tbilisi and thus the night train to Yerevan.
To avoid this stress on the 2025 Kunming&Beyond trip, I’ve planned two extra days in Batumi. This means the ferry ride, including all the time before and after, will take a total of a week.
I’m not comparing this to flights, but one possible alternative would be via Turkey. But they have Erdoğan there, and the majority voted for him, so I usually avoid going there (in 2022, I visited friends in Ankara and Istanbul and I made an exception also due to lack of time, as the return trip to Armenia, Georgia, and the ferry to Bulgaria would have taken at least 10 days longer).
Waiting means long walks, writing, reading, and being lazy. Being lazy meant that “my” Burgas breakfast calories weren’t burned until lunch.
So, I went for a long walk.
I wore my sandals (see d01).
My sandals reactivated my blister and created a new one, as the walk was longer because the restaurant didn’t open until 6:00 PM.
Beforehand, I had spent a long time looking for typical vegetarian Bulgarian food (not that much, but it exists) and restaurants mentioning vegetarian options. And I found this one (1 of 112 recommended restaurants on Tripadvisor, but perhaps the descriptions didn’t tell everthing).
They only had Shopska salad, which was okay in the end since I still wasn’t hungry.
It was a night on the bus. As such, it’s an advertisement for night trains.
The first surprise of the dawn was a (familiar?) skyline, which motivated me to use the location on my phone. It confirmed: Burgas—but not at 9 a.m., as promised on the ticket, but at 6 a.m.
I had booked a room near the bus stop AND the ferry port because I’m clever.
But later the confirmation email said the keys were at the reception of a hotel 20 minutes in the opposite direction. So I went there and, of course, didn’t get the keys because I was too early. From there, it took me 40 minutes to get to the ferry office (also too early).
Being clever helps me realize that I’m never clever enough.
When I returned to the office later, I was told to come back on Friday to pay and pick up the ticket. You could say I was two hours early to get the information that I was two days early.
This gave me enough time to get “my” traditional Burgas breakfast:
Boza, puff pastry parcels with feta cheese (no photo due to greasy fingers) and a few carrots.
I say “my” because also Turkey can claim boza as its own, the cheese parcels are known in various forms at least throughout the Balkans, and I choose carrots because they can be eaten raw and I hope they come from the region.
At least carrots with behavioral problems have less chance of traveling long distances.
While I was eating, a man walked around, shouting loudly and sometimes showing other signs of aggression. Two men approached him, and while the three of them talked, I couldn’t hear or see any commotion from either side. However, the men made phone calls, and a few minutes later, a police car arrived with three well-trained officers. Their demeanor and posture testified to their willingness to do anything, but again, I didn’t hear a single loud word. A police officer took the two men aside, told them something, or explained something to them. Another took down the now-silent man’s personal information and apparently gave him tips on how to dress better because he then rearranged his tattered rags, and then everyone dispersed peacefully.
I admit:
The man had made me nervous, too.
Still, I wondered why the guys had called the police.
And I was glad the situation didn’t escalate.
The rest of the day isn’t worth mentioning, as I was mostly tired.
On this first leg of the trip, I had finished reading several magazines and saved them, only to throw them in the seperated paper trash in Bucharest. In short, I didn’t find any.
Frustrated, I took a walk to Lacul Morii[1] because I found a large lake near the city center interesting. In short, I thought such a lake could have been better presented:
The Dâmboviţa River flows from there into the city center, and I followed it to the lake, but instead of the beautiful scenery of a lake pouring its waters into a river, everything was blocked off by a series of highways, (here seen on google street view, the view from car drivers – pedestrians are 1-2 floors lower)
and only because I had enough time and was stubborn did I finally find a way there. You can’t get to the lake directly, but at least you could take a nice walk on the dam. For me, the other direction would have been more suitable, but it was blocked by a fence.
I gave up and walked to the bus stop, from where I took a bus to Burgas late at night.
While I was waiting, on average every 5 minutes poor people came to check if there was anything usable in the trash cans.
The last surprise before departure was the toilet. It was an “Asian” restroom, dirty and desolate, and getting €10 or so for using it would have been reasonable. I used it without receiving any money, though it was also free of everything you’d expect from a restroom, but the real surprise was a guy who suddenly appeared on the scene, demanding money for this sh…
With a few signs, I made it clear I didn’t have any Romanian leu, but then he he conjured up his card payment machine and kindly offered me a paper towel in advance so I could at least wash and dry my hands.
The payment worked perfectly.
[1] Lacul Morii (“Mill Lake”) is a reservoir, made in 1986 mainly to protect the city against floods. It is also a recreation area and it provides a constant flow to the Dâmboviţa river in the city.
Leaving in the evening gives you the opportunity to de-stress and leave your apartment in good condition. (I mean the apartment!)
I took my time getting to the train station,
and my first surprise on this trip was that I arrived with a sore blister. Caused by the very same sandals I’d worn on my first Asia-to-Australia trip 2015!
On the night train to Bucharest, I shared a compartment with three Romanian women. The oldest had a strong voice, the middle one an even stronger one, and the third, who spoke a bit of English, tried to balance them out by speaking especially calmly. By bedtime, the woman with the strongest voice had a few ideas ready. A little tidbit every few minutes. The oldest answered in a firm voice so people in adjacent compartments could follow her argument. Instead of falling asleep, fueled by the fresh adrenaline from this attack, I had the opportunity to ponder the meaning of life until I understood it and was ready for sleep—or rather, for the next part of their communication.
I already knew about the cultural differences between people and their advantages and disadvantages, but now I was thinking about the evolutionary aspect of loud voices at night around a campfire. Would it attract or deter the saber-toothed tiger?
714 / 5.000
Covid-19 has changed a lot of things.
For my second sabbatical, I had again planned a bike tour to Sydney (instead of the original grand plan in/for Uganda, which slipped through my fingers – another long story).
But container ships have stopped taking passengers since Covid-19, and Australia is now more or less inaccessible without flights.
And then:
Efan, a long-time CS friend, had an incredible idea:
She was planning a road trip for friends from Europe, Australia, and China through her home province of Yunnan, and I was invited to join the group!
Since there wasn’t enough time to cycle there, trains, buses, and ferries take me there (and beyond).
So we start with the night train to Bucharest.